Lost Journals and Found Friendships
by natalieblake
Summary: Castiel finds the journal of Dean Winchester under his seat on a subway. He never expects to find the owner of the journal, but when he does, it's better than he ever could have imagined. Almost like fate brought them together...
1. Chapter 1

Castiel Novak drops down onto the faded red plastic chair with a sigh. The subway this morning is especially overcrowded, and, as usual at 7:30 on a Monday morning, most of the passengers are in a zombie-like state.

The doors close and the subway is off, lurching and shaking slowly, and, if not for the low whooshing and clicking of the vehicle moving, and the muffled sound of rap music coming from someone's headphones, it would have been completely silent.

The quiet, combined with a lack of sleep, is enough to pull Castiel back into sleep. Then the subway turns sharply, jolting him awake, and a blue ballpoint pen rolls out from underneath his chair and bumps against the back of Castiel's converse. He bends over to pick it up, thinking that he could probably use a new pen anyway, and while he's down there the train turns again, and the edge of a worn notebook slides into view.

Curious, Castiel grabs both things and sits up. The notebook is faded and messy, pages sticking out and a corner of the mossy green cover missing. One of those thin fabric bookmark things is hanging out of it, frayed at the edges. Castiel rubs the end between his index finger and thumb, and flips open the notebook.

On the back of the cover is a name, scrawled messily with dark blue ink. _Dean Winchester, _it says. There's no contact information. Castiel looks to the opposite page, on which, in the same blue ink, is a short entry.

_April 24 2013_

_I lost my old notebook yesterday. I think I might have left it on the subway again. _

Cas smiles at that, finding humor in the irony. He reads on.

_I lost the one before this, too. I wonder if people find them. And if they read them. That's weird to think about. Hey, if I lose this one - which I most likely will - and there's some person reading this right now, hello. I hope you have a nice day, because mine's turning out to be shitty, and it's only 9 in the morning. _

Weird coincidence. Castiel lifts the page, wanting to read more, but then the subway doors whoosh open and Castiel gathers his bag and closes the notebook before rushing out the door, thoughts of this mysterious stranger lingering in his mind for the rest of the day.

It'd become something of a routine. Cas would read an entry in the morning, while on the bus, and one at school, if he could fit it in. He could read at home, if he wanted, but somehow it didn't feel right, like Dean's words didn't belong in his house. Maybe because a lot of things Dean said would get Castiel in a lot of trouble if he ever brought them up to his family.

It's things like sex, or drugs, that Dean will bring up so casually, like it's a normal part of life, and it seems like it might be, to him. Castiel remembers the time he read a very detailed paragraph describing Dean's sex life right there in the school library, surrounded by his classmates. He hadn't meant to read it, really, but he'd turned the page and it was there, and, well, Castiel was curious.

It's the cursing, in almost every sentence in some of the entries. Dean lies a lot, he cheats, he's reckless, careless, impulsive, brash. It's everything Castiel's told never to become, never to associate with. And he feels a little guilty, sure, admiring Dean's life when his parents constantly lecture him about the dangers of alcohol and skipping school and to _never ever _use the Lord's name in vain, but mostly it feels like a little secret, all to himself. It almost feels like a friend.

Right now, Cas is reading a short entry about Dean mouthing off to this teacher, an old, fat, bald, miserable little guy, according to Dean, and getting totally lost in the story, because damn if Dean isn't a good story teller, and he's grinning to himself, standing there on the crowded bus, gripping onto a silver pole. He flips the page, tilting his head as the bus surges along, rattling. He laughs at loud reading at Dean's snide remarks, shaking his head at the nerve of him.

Cas lets go of the pole as the bus slows, and leans against it instead, nose buried in the journal. The bus, which had paused at a stop, taking in more passengers, suddenly starts, jolting forward, _hard. _Cas lurches forward and reaches out wildly, scrambling to find something to hold onto so that he wouldn't fall. His grip on the journal loosens and it falls to the floor with a loud smack.

People's heads jerk up from their laps, their stares disapproving. Castiel feels his face heat up and he casts his eyes to the floor, fixating on his feet. He bends to pick up the journal, and the driver of this subway must really have it out for him today, because, _of course, _at that moment, the bus stops suddenly, as if the driver had slammed on the brakes.

His bag, previously loosely slung across his shoulder, goes flying across the bus, along with the journal. Castiel lunges for them, but misses, and watches as both things skid to a halt at the feet of some brown haired, freckly, tall guy. The guy's eyes are on the floor, but he looks up, startled, as Castiel's things crash into his legs. He takes black headphones down from his ears, eyebrows raised and mouth pressed together as if to say, "_Really, dude?" _

The bus starts to move again, and Castiel walks with his head down, trying to ignore the mocking chuckles of the other passengers. Freckly guy is gathering Castiel's stuff up into his arms, and then he straightens, holding Castiel's bag out with a warm smile, and Cas is ready to just grumble a 'thanks' and try to block this train wreck of a morning from his memory, but something about this guy looks, really, _really, _familiar. Cas takes his bag and smiles, opening his mouth to say something, but Freckles' smile vanishes as he looks at the journal, brow creased.

They both start to say "Hey-" at the same time, but the sentences finish differently. Cas asks, "Hey - do I know you from somewhere?" and Freckles asks, "Hey - why do you have my journal?" As a result, neither of them hear what the other said, and they both sigh and say "You first," at the same time.

Freckles rolls his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling, muttering something under his breath, and then brings his eyes back to Cas. "Seriously, you go first." Cas licks his lips.

"I - uh, yeah, actually, never mind." He shakes his head and looks down, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, face heating up even more, if that was possible. There's a pause, and Freckles' boots shift, across from Castiel's own converse.

"Okay..." he sighs, rubbing a boot over a spot on the floor. "So, you feel like explaining to me how you got your hands on my journal?"

Well, he wasn't expecting that. Castiel's head jerks up, startled, and Freckles is gazing at him, brow's raised, waiting for an answer.

Castiel blinks stupidly. "Wait, this is yours?" He gestures at the journal in Freckles' hands, skeptical. "You're Dean Winchester?"

Frec - Dean, _Dean, _chuckles a little. "Uh, yeah." His voice is deep and warm, comforting, like good coffee. "Why didn't you give this to me earlier?"

Honestly, it had never occurred to Castiel to try to locate the owner. It's a journal, lost on public transport in the middle of Manhattan, and frankly, it's a miracle that Cas managed to find Dean without even looking.

"Well, it would've helped if you'd put some contact information," he grumbles, irritable, partly from the early hour of the morning, mostly from the fact that Dean most likely wants his journal back, and that means Castiel will have to part with it.

Dean raises his hands in defense, "My bad, my bad." His smile pulls Castiel in, lights up the otherwise dim interior of the subway. Dean leans against the silver pole and flips through the worn pages of his journal lazily, running a hand through his hair, and Castiel stares as the caramel strands falls messily back into place.

"Did you read it?" Dean is looking up again, a note of suspicion in his voice. Cas tears his eyes away from Dean's hair.

"Uh, what? Yeah, I mean-" Castiel takes a deep breath, and rubs a hand across his forehead. It's too early for this; for attractive boys with nice voices and sunny smiles, for questions that are awkward to answer. "Yeah. I read it, okay? It was there, under my seat, and I was bored -"

Dean closes the journal with a snap, cutting Castiel off. His arms cross. "How _much_ of it did you read?" His smile is gone, his mouth set in a hard line, and Castiel instantly feels guilty.

"It wasn't that much," he insists, and when Dean raises his eyebrows, he quickly adds, "Only a few entries."

Dean nods and goes back to the journal, probably examining it for damage or something. Castiel chews the inside of his lip. The bus rocks back and forth, swaying him from side to side.

"Y'know," Dean says quietly, after a moment, "normal people wouldn't steal strangers diaries and then read them-"

Castiel scoffs. "I didn't _steal _it, first of all. _You're _the one who left it under a seat, and, this isn't even the first time it's happened, according to the first entry in that thing, " he snapped, nodding to the journal in Dean's hands. "You're lucky you even have it back."

Dean rolls his eyes, and grumbles, "Whatever." He sighs heavily, and flips another page in the journal. "When's your stop?" he asks suddenly, looking up.

"Oh, uh..." Castiel turns around, panicked for a moment, hoping he didn't miss his stop because of this, but then, right on cue, the vehicle slows to a stop, bright fluorescent light from the station spilling in through the windows. Castiel almost feels regretful. He turns to face Dean again. "This is it."

Dean opens his mouth, as if he's going to say something, and Cas waits for him to spit it out, but he just keeps looking, green eyes wide, and not saying anything, and the doors are starting close and Cas _really _has to go, like _right now, _but as he turns away and sticks his shoe in the door to stop it from closing, Dean finally shouts, "Wait!"

Castiel turns, exasperated, ready to tell him that now is really not the best time to have a conversation, but Dean looks frantic, one arm reaching out towards Cas, eyes wide. "Wait - what's your name?"

"Castiel!" he shouts over his shoulder, and steps off the subway, into the bright, loud station. The doors squeeze shut behind him a moment later, and he turns and sees Dean smile and raise his hand in a wave for a split second before he's gone, the subway roaring back down the tracks, wind knocking Castiel off balance.

Weird coincidence.


	2. Chapter 2

When Cas walks onto the subway Wednesday morning, he's greeted by a grinning Dean holding out his headphones.

Dean clears his throat, with the air that he's about to make a very important announcement. "Today," he declares, "You," he says, poking Cas in the chest, "are going to listen to my music."

Cas doesn't even have a chance to respond before Dean's reaching up to put the headphones over his ears. His hand brushes against his cheek, touches his hair, and it feels like tiny little fireworks are exploding in the place where Dean touches him. Cas tries not to blush when his touch lingers on the side of his face for a second. He fails.

Dean clears his throat, and presses a button on his iPod. Painfully loud guitar screams in Castiel's ears a second later. He cringes, wrinkling his nose. Dean laughs at the look on his face. He says something, but Cas can't hear him over the music.

"What?!"

"Shh," Dean reaches up and takes the headphones down, laughing, and slings them around Cas's neck. "You're shouting." Sure enough, there's a group of middle aged ladies across the aisle staring at him reproachfully.

"Oh." He turns to them. "Sorry," he apologizes, quieter this time. Turning back to Dean, he says, "It was a bit loud for me."

Dean nods. "Right. I'll turn it down then, and -" he reaches up to place the headphones back up on Cas's ears, and Cas wonders why Dean doesn't just let Cas do it himself, but hey, not like he's complaining.

Dean grins, still looking at Cas. "There you go." Behind them, a man clears his throat loudly, and Dean jumps, taking away his hand.

For the rest of the ride, Cas is forced to listen to Dean's favorite songs. They're mostly all rock, and they all sound pretty much the same to Cas, just men with deep voices and long, complicated guitar solos, but he knows that for some reason this is important to Dean, so he makes sure to smile whenever Dean glances over.

There's one song Cas likes, and when he asks Dean to replay it, he looks pleased. "I knew you'd like Pink Floyd." Cas nods and leans back against the wall, closing his eyes, letting the music wash over him. A minute later, however, Dean nudges him sharply in the side.

Cas opens his eyes reluctantly, blinking drearily. He slings Dean's headphones around his neck. "What?"

Dean's looking down at the floor, fiddling with the wire of the headphones. "I was just - I was thinking maybe we should hang out."

Cas lets his head fall back against the wall. "We do hang out." Not true, of course. They met just over a week ago, and have only seen each other for about 15 minutes every morning on the subway.

Dean sighs, impatient. "I mean, we should hang out somewhere that's not a smelly old subway." The bus stops to let more people in, and Castiel turns so that he's facing Dean.

"And where would we go?"

Dean chews his lip. "I don't know, my house? Or yours if you want. We could just study or something," he suggests.

Cas considers this. Truthfully, he's reluctant. Being friends with Dean, seeing him in places other than this, would be great. But Cas wonders what Dean would think of his family, or, even worse, what his family might think of Dean.

"Can we go to your house?" he finally asks.

Dean beams. "Yeah, of course! But I gotta warn you, my mom will want to adopt you." He winks. "And my brother, Sam, he'll love you too. He's such a nerd, and he's smart, almost as smart as you."

Cas knows Dean didn't mean anything of the compliment, but that doesn't stop his heart from jumping a little. "I'm free Thursday," he says to Dean. Truthfully, Cas is free everyday, but saying it like that sounds cool.

"Awesome! Come over around 4, stay for dinner. I'll text you the address," Dean says.

"Oh, you need my number, of course." Dean turns and digs inside his bag for a minute, and then pulls out a pen, and then a journal.

Cas can't stop himself from asking, "Is that the - ?"

Dean looks up. "The one you found? Yeah, it is. Kind of old, though," Dean comments, examining the rip in the corner of the front cover. "And," he continues, "I've got a newer one now, so I don't use this." He flips the journal open to a blank page, writes down his number.

"Can I have it?" Cas asks suddenly. Dean looks up, surprised.

"What do you want a ratty old journal of mine for?

Cas blushes. "I just - I like the way you write." Dean looks as though he's trying to fight back a smile.

"Yeah," he says fondly, "Yeah, you can have it. Maybe you could start writing in it, too," he suggests, holding out the journal for Cas. "Y'know, since there's still a whole bunch of empty pages."

Cas nods, and then cringes as the subway screeches loudly to a halt. "Oh," he says, straightening up and pulling his bag onto his shoulder. "This is my stop."

"See you tomorrow at 4, then?"

"Yeah, see you!" Cas tries to hide his excitement, but even after he waves goodbye to Dean and steps off the subway, he can't stop smiling.

Throughout the day, a total of four people ask him what he's so happy about.

You can learn a lot about a person from their journal, apparently. Cas hasn't read much of Dean's journal, but he's learned that he loves classic rock, fixing things, making dinner, his mother, Vonnegut, record players, cross country, and that he'll protect his little brother at all costs.

It's not like your average angsty teenage journal, where the person writes down every boring aspect of their less than average day, and then whines about it. It's more about Dean's thoughts, his opinion on things - and he has opinions on everything - what he thinks about the world in general. Occasionally it's song lyrics, or a list of words that he likes:

Magnanimity - The fact or condition of being generous

Soliloquy - An act of speaking one's thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers

Dissonant - Lacking harmony

Evanescent - Vanishing quickly, lasting a very short time

Imbroglio - An altercation or complicated situation

Insouciance - Casual lack of concern, nonchalance

Surreptitious - Kept secret, especially because it would not be approved of

The words don't seem particularly remarkable to Cas, but for all he knows, they have some deeper meaning for Dean. Or, he just likes the way they sound when spoken. Cas does. The words fall off his tongue like a little melody, and he spends an afternoon finding all of the lists that are in the journal, and reciting them softly to himself.

"Imbroglio," Cas states quietly. Some girl opposite the table from him, typing furiously on a laptop, glances up.

"What?" She pushes a strand of dark orange hair from her face. "Did you say something?"

"No," Cas replies, shaking his head. "Well, I mean, yeah, I did say something, but it's - I didn't mean to say it out loud," he explains, and closes the journal, sits up. "Do you have the time?"

The red haired girl, Charlie, Cas remembers, glances down at her laptop screen. "It's 10:30."

Cas sits up, all traces of laziness suddenly gone. "Oh, sh -" he almost curses, and blames Dean's excessive use of swear words for that. "I'm going to be late and I don't even have my book." He reaches for his bag, and stuffs the journal inside, zipping it up. "Do you think I have time to go to my locker?"

Charlie grimaces. "Probably not."

Cas slumps down in his chair, sighing. A moment later Charlie unzips her bag and pulls out her textbook, holding it out to Cas. "Here," she says, "You can borrow mine."

Cas takes it hesitantly. "Are you sure? Don't you need it?"

Charlie waves her hand at him, smiling warmly. "Nah, I don't have Chem until tomorrow." But Cas still hovers around her, uncertain. "Take it," she insists, and shoves it into his arms. "You're going to be late."

Right. Class. Cas accepts the book and grins at her, shooting a "Thanks!" over his shoulder as he hurries out of the library and into the now nearly empty hallway. He and Charlie aren't friends, so to speak, but she's the closest thing he has to one. Except Dean, of course.

Dean. Cas smiles in spite of himself, thinking about how he's going to be with Dean in - Cas checks the time on a clock at the end of the hallway - five and a half hours. Somehow it's too soon and not soon enough at the same time.

The day drags on, each minute lasting twice as much as they would on any other day, it seems, but finally, it's 4:00, and Castiel's managed to convince his parents that Dean is helping him study for a test coming up - never mind that they don't even go to the same school - and Cas is standing outside of his apartment block, waiting.

A moment later Dean appears from the throng of people crowding the sidewalk, bearing two cups of steaming coffee. Cas takes it eagerly, wrapping his freezing fingers around the warmth of the styrofoam cup.

"If you were any later, I might have frozen to death," Cas jokes, and Dean laughs.

"Somehow I don't think my mom would like you as much like that." Cas chuckles and takes a sip of his coffee, and it's wonderful - the perfect balance between strong and creamy.

"But yeah," Dean continues, "sorry about being late - got held up getting this." He raises his cup in the air.

Cas swallows the huge gulp of coffee he just took. "Definitely worth it."

Dean laughs, and spends the next ten minutes of the short walk to his apartment lecturing Cas on the many, many reasons why Starbucks sucks, and how there are about forty seven coffee shops Dean can think of, just off the top of his head, that are infinitely better than Starbucks could ever dream of being.

But despite all Dean's jokes, Castiel is nervous.

"What if they don't like me?" he blurts out suddenly.

"What?!" Dean looks offended. "Of course they'll like you, dumbass," he says, nudging Cas with his shoulder. "They like anyone who makes me happy." Dean says simply.

It's quiet for the rest of the walk, and soon, they're standing outside of Dean's apartment block.

Cas takes a deep breath and breathes it out slowly, watching it fog in the cold air. Dean cuffs him on the shoulder lightly.

"C'mon, don't be so nervous. What's the worst that could happen?"

Cas shakes his head. "No, you're right. What am I so nervous about?"

"Exactly, yeah." Dean smiles reassuringly at him. "After you," he says, opening the door for Cas and hopping to the side, sweeping his arm dramatically out in front of him.

Cas laughs, but steps through the doors. The inside of Dean's apartment block is flooded with warm light, and when Castiel looks up, a huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling.

A doorman steps forward to open another set of doors, and Castiel walks through, gasping in awe at the beautiful interior. A grand marble staircase sits off to his left, and in front of him, a pair of elevators, also marble. Another chandelier, even bigger, hangs above his head."Woah," he breathes. Dean appears by his side, tugging a scarf off his neck. "It's great, right?"

Cas laughs. "You could say that, yeah." The place is small, but everything - the walls, the floors, the elevators, the front desk - is marble, making the tiny lobby seem almost royal.

Dean steps up onto the staircase, his footsteps echoing off through the room. "C'mon," he says. Cas smiles and climbs the stairs alongside him, running his hand along the smooth railing.

Dean turns left at the top of the stairs, and passes three wooden doors, finally stopping at the fourth one. "Here we are."

"Is your apartment as gorgeous as the rest of this place?"

Dean scoffs. "Hardly. It's pretty small, and it's messy, but it is home." He knocks three times on the door, and not a second later it swings open and a kid, Sam, Cas assumes, stands there with a huge smile on his face.

"Dean!"

"Heya, Sammy," Dean says to him, smiling. Then he turns back to Cas. "Cas, this is Sam, my nerd brother - "

"Hey!" Sam smacks Dean's arm lightly.

Dean chuckles. "And Sam, this is my friend Cas," he says, waving his arm towards him. Cas waves, and Sam grins brightly at him.

"Nice to meet you! My brother won't shut up about you, he talks about you all the - " Dean blushes bright red and clamps a hand over Sam's mouth. Sam shrieks, and an older man appears in the doorway behind him a moment later.

"What's going on here?"

Dean lets go of Sam and straightens up.

"Oh, Cas, this is my dad, John," he explains. "And dad, this is Castiel. We're uh - studying," he says, winking at Cas.

John reaches out a hand, and Castiel shakes it, smiling politely. "Nice to meet you, Mr Winchester."

"Nice to meet you too, Castiel...?"

"Novak," Cas finishes. Suddenly, John freezes, his face pale.

"What did you say?" His voice is scarily quiet.

Castiel withdraws his hand and glances at Dean, worried. Dean shrugs. "Um, Novak. That's my last name."

John looks at Cas with a face as cold and hard and the marble on the floor. "I think you need to leave."

"Dad...?" Dean asks uncertainly. John ignores him, still glaring at Castiel.

"With all due respect sir, I think you have - "

John talks over him, and even though his voice is so quiet Cas can barely hear him, it sounds like ice, and it terrifies him. "You think that was funny," he says icily, "that prank your cousin pulled?' Castiel's heart freezes. Oh no. Not this. Not here. This was supposed to be over, and now...

"Setting off fireworks in our front yard? Catching our house on fire? There's a reason there are laws against doing that, and," John's voice is getting louder with every word. "You think it was funny, when the fire department showed up and took my wife to the ER because she had burns on her face? That funny to you?!"

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Castiel backs up, terrified. John lunges at him. "I'll kill you! I'll do it!"

Dean pushes Castiel's chest and he stumbles backwards, away from the door, from Dean's father.

"Go!"

For one horrible moment, Castiel thinks Dean is angry too, that he somehow knows about what's happened, but then he grabs Cas's hand and pulls him down the stairs, through the lobby, and outside into the cold night air. Tears cloud Castiel's vision, and if it weren't for Dean's hand guiding his way, he would have fallen.

This wasn't supposed to happen.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean leads Cas to a bench in Riverside Park overlooking the Hudson. He's silent the whole way there, making sure to stay a few feet in front of Cas, taking giant steps, feet pounding the sidewalk. Castiel, being shorter than Dean, jogs to keep up. His stomach twists up into knots. He doesn't know how to explain this - if there even is an explanation. It's all so messy. And what will Dean think of him? Maybe he shouldn't even attempt to explain it, because whatever horrible things Dean says to him might just be too much to bear and -

Dean stops abruptly and sits down on a bench, his face blank. Castiel studies him, looking for anger, for distrust, for hurt, but there's nothing. Just…emptiness. It's scarily uncharacteristic for Dean.

"Dean — " Cas begins, but then stops, not knowing what to say, how to say it. "I'm don't know how to explain," he says weakly, and Dean turns to him then, and no, it's not anger on his face, it's not distrust, it's confusion, it's desperation.

"Can you try?" he asks, quietly, and right then, even with the deep voice, and all the muscles, and the stubble on his jaw, he looks so small, so lost. "Please say you can explain this. Please tell me that I can still trust you." Dean pauses, his mouth twisted up. "I don't want to not trust you."

Cas takes a shaky breath. "Yeah, I can try." He stares across the river, at a small boat passing by. People wave from the deck. It feels weird that life goes on for other people when Castiel feels like his world is crashing down around him. "But I can't guarantee that you won't hate me afterwards."

Dean scoffs. "I could never hate you."

Cas just shakes his head.

"Tell me everything," Dean says, and places his hand lightly on top of Cas's.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want Dean to think badly of him, and despite his claims that he couldn't, Castiel finds it very hard to believe that Dean will ever look at him the same again. But it is what it is. What happened is in the past, and if Castiel's learned anything from Dean over the past few weeks, it's that he hates dishonesty.

"Okay," he begins, and Dean leans back, watching Castiel speak.

"I moved to Manhattan about two years ago. I lived in Pennsylvania before, with my uncle, Inias, and his son, or my cousin, Balthazar. Balthazar had this weird kind of influence over me, and he could convince me to do things — bad things — that I wouldn't normally do. I was there because my parents were...well, not being very good parents."

Cas sighs. "I don't really want to talk about that time, but all you need to know is that I…was not on a good path. And then one day, Balthazar found this old stash of fireworks in our garage. I warned him that they were years old and probably faulty and dangerous, but he — he wouldn't listen to me, and he started messing around with them in our yard."

Beside him, Dean shifts, and Cas looks over. "You follow?" Dean nods, looking anxious.

"Okay, well, it wasn't really a big deal, and there weren't any seriously big fireworks being set off. The worst thing that happened was that our neighbor came out and yelled at us for all the noise we were making. It's all just a game, a joke, until Balthazar digs up this huge firecracker and it gets out of control and he — " Castiel's throat closes up then, and he glances over at Dean, who's staring, frozen, across the Hudson, his face set, his mouth in a hard line. His hands are gripping onto the bench, knuckles white.

"Dean?"

Dean nods. "Continue," he says, his voice thick.

Castiel takes a shaky breath. "He launched the firecracker across the street." Tears fill Cas's eyes. "And, and well, you know the rest." He looks up to the sky, trying to hold in the tears.

Dean is silent on the bench beside him. "Please say something," Castiel says, quietly.

Dean closes his eyes. Cas waits, and after a few minutes, Dean shakes his head. "I —," he pauses, sighs, tries again. "I should be mad." Cas nods vigorously.

"Why aren't I mad at you? I should never want to see you again. I should punch you, or at least slap you, or maybe push you in the river, or something."

"I'd deserve it."

"What?"

"I'd deserve it," Cas says, spitting out the words like poison. "If you did any of those things, I'd deserve it all, and more." There's a sort of ache in his gut, a hollow feeling, and he feels full of poison, feels completely evil. Dean looks at him, and Cas turns his head away, feeling undeserving of the forgiveness in Dean's eyes.

"I am so, so sorry, Dean. You have no idea how sorry I am. I know I wasn't the one who lit the firework, who launched it through your window, but I could've stopped it. I knew it couldn't end well, but I didn't stop it —"

Castiel's words are cut off by a bone-crushing hug from Dean. His arms wrap around Castiel, his face pressing against his neck, and the hollow feeling in Castiel's gut disappears.

"Are you trying to squeeze me to death?" Cas jokes, words coming out muffled because his face is currently squashed into Dean's shoulder.

Dean holds him tighter in response. "It's not your fault. Not directly." Dean's hand is tangled up in his hair. "And, yeah, maybe you could have done something, in theory, but who knows what would have happened then? Maybe it'd be you with burn scars."

"I don't blame anyone but Balthazar, the son of a bitch. Him, I'd like to squeeze to death. But you," Dean lets go of Cas, finally, but keeps a hand on his shoulder. Another hand reaches up, touches his jaw. "You're a good person."

_How?_ Castiel thinks, but he just smiles softly, and Dean brushes the edge of his lips with his thumb. "I hope that's good enough for you," Dean says.

"It's more than good enough," Cas says.

* * *

Dean takes Cas home in a taxi. They lean against each other in the backseat, and Castiel watches lights flick by through the window and tries not to fall asleep on Dean's shoulder. It's peaceful, for the first time that night. Too soon, the taxi pulls up in front of Castiel's apartment block, and Dean's pulling him out of the cab by the hand into the cold night.

He insists on walking Castiel to his door. They stop in front of it, hands intertwined tightly between their two bodies.

"What does this mean for us?"

Dean runs a hand through his hair. "It means things are going to be a bit more complicated now."

They stand, for just another moment, together outside Castiel's apartment door. Then Castiel steps away from Dean, releases his hand. He pauses directly in front of his door, but then spins around to face Dean. "I can't do this."

"What? Can't do what?"

Cas shakes his head. "If I go in there," he points to the door behind him, "it means I have to hide who I am, have to pretend that the things that matter most to me don't matter at all." Cas lets his arm fall to his side. Dean has no idea where this is coming from, or why, but it seems like Cas has wanted to say this for a while, so he just lets him talk.

"You, to name one. And Dean, I'm tired of lying. Of hiding. Of pretending that my idea of success equals out to a law degree and a wife and three kids. And I've — I've spent my entire childhood working on getting good grades, getting into college and getting a well-paying job, and that's not a bad thing, but I'm always thinking about the future, forever planning on following my family's idea of success, but now this, here, with you, is the most important thing to me, and it feels like everything is changing.

"And Dean, life is messy. Its moments are big and unpredictable and come at us faster than we know, or else stay with us longer than we think we can bear, and those moments come from directions we cannot anticipate, and leave in ways we cannot imagine. I'm just saying, we can't ever really get through life the way we want, never mind the way we ought to. But my interaction with you, Dean, is the best I have ever been at life, the truest to myself I've ever felt."

Cas pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts. "And years ago, I would have said: You can't throw your life away. You just can't. But I was younger then, and I didn't know that the awful truth of it is that throwing a life away is just about the simplest thing imaginable to do. And all this," Cas spins around, gestures to the apartment block, "I'd be happy to throw it away if it meant I could stay true to myself."

He turns to Dean again, a hopeful, wild look on his face. "So let's throw it away." He steps in closer to Dean and takes his hand. A small smile appears on his face.

Above them, in a window from one of the apartments, a light flicks on. Dean looks up, and a shadowy silhouette moves behind it. Dean brings his eyes back down to Cas, who's still standing there, eyes wide, skin bathed in warm yellow light from the streetlamp. "What's that supposed to mean?"

It comes out harsher than Dean meant it to, and he feels like he's kicked a puppy when Cas's shoulders fall, when he looks up at Dean with sad blue eyes.

Dean sighs. "No, come on — don't look at me like that. I just meant —" Dean rubs a hand over his eyes. "Look, I get it, okay? I understand you. The way you describe it, anyone would want out of there," he says, gesturing to the apartment in front of him.

"But Cas, where are you supposed to stay? With me? Because that's — that's just setting us up for disaster."

Cas casts his eyes downward. "I have my uncle, in Pennsylvania. Balthazar is off at college by now, so it'll just be me and him."

"Pennsylvania."

Cas nods.

"That's three hours away."

Just then, the door behind Cas opens, and a man steps out in to the doorway. Cas spins around. "Dad?"

"You were supposed to be back hours ago." The man's voice is deep and intimidating, and he towers over Cas with a frown. "Where have you been all this —"

The man stops talking mid-sentence to look up sharply at Dean, and just then, Dean realizes that his and Cas's hands are still locked together. He pulls away quickly, but it's too late, because the man's eyes — Castiel's father's eyes — are darting between the two of them, surely putting two and two together, and…

"What's this?" he asks. An innocent enough question, with an innocent enough answer, as long as Cas lies.

"This is my boyfriend, Dean."

If his father is surprised, he doesn't show it. He doesn't even blink. "Do not mock me, Castiel."

"Not mocking you, sir."

There's a tense silence. Castiel's father clasps his hands behind his back and speaks. "You mean to tell me that you're...homosexual?" His voice lowers on the last word, and he looks around, as if the word is taboo. Dean holds back a laugh.

Cas nods proudly and reaches down for Dean's hand again, making sure his father sees. No more lying indeed.

"Get out of my sight," the man says cooly.

"Gladly."

Cas spins around, gripping on to Dean's hand so hard that it hurts a little, and somehow, manages to keep his composure until the door slams shut behind them and they're left alone once again on the sidewalk. It's dark now, and Castiel leans sideways into Dean's shoulder and sobs. Tears soak Dean's shirt, and he stands there with Cas, carding fingers through his hair and rubbing his back until his sobs subside to quiet sniffs.

"Boyfriend, huh?"

Cas laughs against his chest. "That okay with you?"

Dean can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "More than okay."

Cas is completely silent now, just holding onto Dean quietly, and Dean can feel Cas's heartbeat softly pounding a rhythm through his chest. It'd be nice, this moment, Dean thinks. It'd be nice to hold Cas like this. It'd be nice if he can forget about everything else but this moment. He tries not to think about the fact that somehow, this could very likely be their last few hours together.

And so he just holds Cas a bit closer and a bit tighter and kisses him softly on the temple. "I'll drive you to Pennsylvania," he finally says.


End file.
